


Confrontation

by 48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2019 reuploads, Angst, Cagefic, Incomplete, M/M, Probably Abandoned, Trans Sam Winchester, occurs after S14E2 and goes into S14E17
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue/pseuds/48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue
Summary: Nick has a habit of asking questions Sam doesn't want to answer.Or, Sam knows Nick as well as Lucifer, and the familiarity is a double-edged sword.
Relationships: Lucifer/Nick (Supernatural), Lucifer/Nick/Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Nick & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katsidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsidhe/gifts).



> part of the reuploads as I put everything back and decide what is and isn't a wip anymore, and I apologize for the disorganization
> 
> as always, hope all is well!

All Sam wanted was a cup of coffee.

Sure, it's 2 am, and sure, he's only had three hours of sleep in the last two days, but he's got four teams out working cases while Cas searches for Michael, and Sam needs to help Cas find him (to find Dean, Dean who was a hostage because he saw no other way-) before anyone else gets any ideas on alternative solutions to the problem.

Fact is, Sam has worked on less sleep before.

But even a hunter with all the practice in the world has blind spots.

And he neither anticipates nor appreciates the body he bumps into, the shadow that somehow materialized next to him without a sound.

Sam drops his cup of expresso, mug shattering on the floor. Blonde hair, sloping shoulders, blue eyes that were burned into his every sleeping hour no matter the night.

Sam ducks closer to the countertop, frozen. The warmth of his hands had been stolen again, in more ways than one.

Nick holds up his hands, palms up and out and wide, then realizes his mistake, and tries to make himself as small as possible, like he knows Sam's dirtiest little secrets, because he does.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." He murmurs.

Sam flinches at the voice, too. Lucifer always liked to take up as much space as he could, liked to get in as close and tight as he could manage, liked to press kisses in a line down Sam's throat-

"-Thought you knew I was there." Nick trails off, his brow furrowing as he realizes that talking constantly makes it worse, then abandons the attempt at trying to smooth any of the unwanted contact over.

Sam sucks in another breath, and makes some kind of inarticulate half-noise that Nick gracefully ignores. Sam isn't sure if it's an attempt to say it's fine, or if it's not that at all. But it's not Enochian, thank... Well, not Heaven, and not God, but still, he knows they both aren't equipped to deal with any of that.

Sam wonders if Nick learned how to walk silently thanks to the Devil, or if Lucifer had stolen that habit from him.

Lucifer had stolen a lot of things from both of them over the years.

And Sam tries not to think about how quiet _he_ once was, or how low his voice would go in all the nightmares a lifetime ago. Sam fails, and remembers how the noise would rumble, pleased and tight in Nick's borrowed, false chest when he tried to ask for yes night after night, and Sam had to keep him from twining fingers in his hair-

Nick telegraphs his every movement, carefully grabs a nearby rag on the counter inches from Sam's chest, then kneels down to pick up the pieces.

He keeps mopping up in small circles, not quite noticing how he's just moving the gunk around instead of cleaning up the mess.

Sam blinks again, takes another breath, and finally releases his death grip on the counter-top once he stops craning his neck.

"You don't have to clean up my mess-" He finally manages, and then his mind catches up with his mouth and he loses his voice again.

Nick opens his mouth, then closes it, a mirror, always a mirror, and then sits there on the tile, looking at Sam like he's memorizing his expressions.

It's too much, it's too similar, but they can't quite look away, and Sam's mind is already drowning in a guilt too deep to name.

Because that's what it came down to.

Nick would've never been possessed if Sam hadn't let Lucifer out in the first place. Sam doesn't even blame him for saying yes.

He'd said yes once (and more than once, in other ways, in ways he regretted before it all fell apart)-

He can't judge Nick for the same sin.

Especially when he knows what Lucifer will do to people who has what he wants, particularly when he values them even less than everything else.

Nick had been disposable. Both of them know it, both of them remember-

And Sam knows what Lucifer was willing to do to what he saw as his own body, the very body he considered theirs and theirs alone, and Lucifer had thought Sam was perfect.

Nick hadn't been perfect, not at all, and Sam doesn't want to know what Lucifer was thinking while he'd been inside him, what he'd be willing to do to break him if he needed to, even though he does.

What he'd wanted to do, what he'd done to Sam, had been bad enough.

_If I couldn't fix you up again, gorgeous, I'd still be having second thoughts.You are a work of art, Sammy. But don't worry. I'm not heartless. For all the lessons you need to learn, I've always given you proper aftercare._

And Sam almost gags, the memory of Lucifer's hands (not those hands, Nick hadn't been in the Cage, it had only been a projection) but it still had felt real enough when the callouses had brushed his jaw and that mouth had leaned against his pulse and those hands had tucked his hair back like it was a kindness and not a claim of ownership.

Sam rubs his mouth, turns his face away.

Nick hasn't stopped looking up then down again, gathering up the glass fragments with still bandaged hands.

"It's fine." Nick manages. "It's my fault, really."

And the thing coating his voice is ugly and raw as Sam feels, and Sam's crushing guilt feels all the more stifling for it.

Sam stutters, anyway, because even though he really, really doesn't want to talk about any of this, he doesn't want Nick to feel cast out, or alone, or like an abomination.

Not like he did.

Isolation had always been Lucifer's favorite tool to keep his toys in line (toys, lovers, conquests- whether at odds or not, Lucifer had argued Sam there was no difference, it was all semantics, because he was his, his always, his alone)... Belonging had been his other weapon, too close, too intimate, too effective, and Sam forces himself not to think about that, either.

Being possessed was something they had all shared, but too much for any words to sum up every waking hour of starlight and frozen and want that Lucifer had wielded like a weapon under their skin.

When he rises, Sam stiffens, swallows, and Nick keeps walking slow and steady, before he tosses them in the trash.

Sam finally takes a step forward, steadies himself on the fridge.

He shouldn't be thinking about this.

He should say... something.

Nick hasn't left yet. Sam doesn't know why.

But he had to have come here for a reason.

Has to want something, he always wants something-

And Sam shuts those thoughts down, too.

Nick needs his help, his understanding, his friendship. Not fear.

"It's not." Sam manages to mumble, the words caught in his throat as he meets his gaze and tries to hold it.

Nick catches his eyes and licks his lips and shifts, hands crossed like he realizes his bouncing leg while Sam leans on each foot.

Nick is warm, Sam realizes. Every breath and body movement is still less than a foot away, and there's no vacuum or wisp of electric, frozen energy that likes to linger, heavy and haunting, around them.

"Did... Did you need something?" Sam asks, finally, fiddling with the sink.

Nick doesn't tilt his head. Just gives a tired, worn grin (not like Lucifer, not full of teeth, or a half-smile) just a thin pressed-together uncertainty.

"Well, I was going for a cup of coffee." He sasses back, voice less a rumble or a whisper instead of a scraped, exhausted, sleepless sound.

Sam's throat feels very much the same, and they share the same tired, baggy shadows under their eyes. Nick's five-o'clock shadow is more pronounced, but he'd still kept up with shaving, while Sam rubs his beard, untended, while the search for Dean continues on.

"Sure, sure." Sam's tongue may be glued to the roof of his mouth, but the coffee machine hisses on and he can use that on autopilot, anyway.

"Is there any way I can help, with-" Nick gives a small, swooping gesture, like he knows Sam hasn't slept.

(Like he's been watching, like he always does, Sam panics, and then reigns the hysterical remnants of an older time back in).

Sam shakes his head. Grabs a spoon from the drawer even though it's not really necessary, then gets milk out of the fridge on autopilot and pauses, realizing that familiarity, too.

Nick keeps looking anywhere but him, but then keeps eyeing Sam like he can't help it, like Sam is a puzzle he's trying to piece together, and Sam tries to forgot it even matters that he remembers how Nick liked his coffee even though they'd never talked about it. That Sam only knew when trapped in the deepest dregs of his unconscious, trying to claw his way out while Lucifer bled the world dry-

Then Sam thinks of Dean, and Jack, (And Michael and fire and choking of feathers and rot and incorporeal hands that tried to rend his ribcage in twain until Lucifer stitched Sam up again and ripped him far, far away, carving his name back in Sam's chest so that Michael could never come close to wearing down the edges) and Sam tries to stay focused. He can't be distracted, not when it's all so close to being ripped away again.

(Lucifer had always taken two sugars, Sam remembers, and then he banishes that thought, too, every memory of the Devil smiling as dawn filtered through the windows and he acted like he owned the very memory of Bobby's kitchen, even in Sam's head.)

If they don't make a big deal out of this, maybe it won't be.

_You keep telling yourself, that, Sammy. You keep telling yourself you're just fine._

No. No, Lucifer is dead, and the evidence is standing right in front of him.

 **I'm glad it's you,** Sam had said once, and he still meant every word.

It doesn't mean it doesn't feel weird, knowing all the ways Nick's hands and body had tried to contour against Sam's own, and how close they are almost touching-

And Sam wouldn't be thinking about it, he wouldn't, but Nick has stepped in closer again, too close, except it's warm in all the human ways Lucifer has never been, and Sam finds that muscle memory and trained responses and old, old memories of a time before Lucifer ever hated him all are at war in the face of everything he's ever lived.

"May I-" Nick is still giving Sam space, not enough space, but not deliberately invading. He holds his hand out, if unsure about proceeding, then Sam leans to the side to let him take over the coffee machine. As he does, Nick brushes his hand, without realizing (because there's no way he meant it, there isn't), and Sam jerks away.

Nick bites the inside of his lip and chuckles, nervous.

"Don't want to have to clean up the evidence again, with your shaky hands-" Nick jokes, and it falls flat, but his muscle in his jaw ticks differently than Lucifer's did, the delivery lighter and less focused, with far less swimming under the surface.

So Sam forces himself to stand side by side with Nick, half-parsing through the still-open book he's been scouring for more leads on the table. There's less than a foot between them, but maybe, maybe if Sam tries hard enough, he can train himself to not feel the need to cower, to be invisible, to flinch at almost every sudden move...

And Sam traces the same lines on the page of the Enochian he's been trying to comb through without taking anything in. The text was supposed to have a lead, some other way to draw an archangel from their vessel with the vessel intact. This process is for angels, not archangels, but maybe they can reverse engineer it-

Nick pours the milk, and keeps stirring long after he pours his coffee.

Sam doesn't know when his eyes wandered back to watching his every move, except he does.

"Do you ever miss him?" Nick asks, looking down at his hands, hair sticking up (Lucifer had liked to keep it more pushed down, less wild, unless he had other, more pressing matters to worry about), and Sam finds himself frozen all over again.

Blue eyes make the hair on the back of his neck rise with a familiar, burning intensity, and Sam doesn't meet them, you never meet them when he gets like this-

But Sam is still not quite sure he heard him right.

_You always have, Sam, you always will, there will always be that empty pit inside you you'll never, ever fill, no matter how much you lie to yourself-_

"Sorry?" The sound hisses through Sam's gritted teeth against his better judgement, and Sam rubs his own shoulder to get the cold aching imprints out.

The spoon clinks on the side of the mug.

Sam bites his tongue again, at the sudden noise, and then Nick puts the spoon down like he only half-realized what he'd been doing.

"Him." Nick's voice is soft, bitten off, until it isn't. "You know, Sam. Please don't make me ask again."

Sam isn't sure if that's supposed to sound like all the honeyed threats he knows so well or not.

Then Nick sighs, hand running through his hair, and adds, "I know it isn't easy, I just..."

Then Sam closes his eyes, counts to three, and finds all the courage he wasn't sure he had left-

"I know what you meant." He answers. The sound isn't strangled, and is in English.

Small steps.

Sam closes the book and turns to look at Nick head on.

"Does it matter?" Sam whispers. The words sound far away, hazy, like Sam's half underwater and not in his own skin.

**Does it matter, if I do, if I ever did, when it won't fix anything, when he still tore us apart?**

Sam tries not to think of all the angry, burning words that want to climb their way out on reflex, but he thinks Nick can taste them, anyway. Lucifer had been able to, and knew every minute twitch of Sam's face by heart.

 **No. No. You have no right to ask that of me. You never had a right.** He doesn't scream. **I never belonged to you, you couldn't make me**

Except that's not directed towards Nick, either. And Sam has to stop thinking about it. Lucifer is gone. Lucifer is dead, and thinking about the past won't save anyone, himself least of all-

But it might save Nick.

Only Nick holds out a hand, suspended, like he's a sleepwalker, like he's going to touch him, clasp him on the back, like he's reaching for something and Lucifer had never died at all-

And Sam backs towards the door on unsteady feet, book gathered close to his chest, a shield, imperfect and useless but something.

Nick's hand falls the second Sam almost bolts.

"I... I guess not." Nick whispers. Then he looks at his hands again, and back at Sam, only it's like he's seeing right through him, like he's not there at all-

"It's, it's... Okay," Sam doesn't want to say, but he does, "It's okay if you do. I... I know. What..." And Sam swallows again.

There's a lot he can't say. There still aren't words for it.

"He was like ice burning you from the inside out." Nick answers got him, staring back at him. "And you wanted to let it burn forever."

Nick's eyes go glassy, and Sam can't look at him any longer, turns-

There's a ghost standing between them, stealing their breath and their memory into something twisted and cold and physical in a way Sam doesn't want to name.

"Wait, Sam, I'm sorry, I just, here-" And then he's holding out another cup of coffee, coffee Sam didn't even register even though he'd been watching Nick's every minuscule movement for a deception that wasn't even conscious, just what you do after rooming with the Devil for thousands of years.

Sam takes the offered cup of coffee and chugs. Throws his head back and doesn't think about it, with every instinct is screaming at him otherwise.

Nick follows suit, and Sam tries not to let the crawling feeling set his teeth on edge at being mimicked.

"I didn't mean..." Nick's frantic words trip over each other, anxious in ways Lucifer has never been, and that steadies Sam's grip on the china again. "What I'm trying to say... No one else looks at me. No one sees me. But you do, you see when I'm... Me, even when I don't remember. And I need something to keep my mind off things. I could help, with your brother. I remember Michael, too, even if it's our Michael, not the one that has Dean, but that still counts, right? Sam, every time I try, to talk about it, there's... Sam," Nick's voice breaks, then grows sharper when he adds, "How can I do anything to help if we can't even hold a conversation?"

"I..." Sam sighs and shifts from foot to foot. "You should be resting, Nick-"

"So should you."

Sam ignores him, like he ignores everyone else when they ask him to do the same. "I can't. You know I can't. But if you want to talk, I'll listen, but Nick, I can't just shut it all off all the time, and right now-"

"I know, Sam. You don't have to apologize. But if we're both trying to make sense of all this... I have to know. Did you see me there, before Hell? Did you see me, underneath it all, like you do now? And if you did-" Nick presses.

_Did I matter? Did what we have even count, when you still loved him, loved me?_

Sam reads between the lines, and his stomach churns in knots as he processes.

Nick's as much a victim as he is, in more ways than one.

"Nick..." Sam hesitates, grimacing before he tries to turn his face into a mask, to hide the pain underneath, "Nick, what happened, it..." Sam loses his voice, then finds it again. "What matters is, you didn't have a say, and later... Neither of us did. What happened... It's not our fault."

"Wasn't it?"

Silence swings at their necks with a swooping, crushing emptiness Sam doesn't let escape.

"Not in the Cage." Sam finally answers, his nostrils flaring as he clenches his fist and looks down at nothing and no one. He can feel something pinching the back of his neck, and hears phantom laughter that he won't ever have to hear again.

Nick's laughter... He'd never really heard it, not really, Nick wasn't really the laughing type. But there was no erasing Lucifer's voice, the raw edge of all that it contained beneath it all, and Sam knows he won't hear that again.

"You weren't there." Sam adds. "You might remember it, but it wasn't you-"

"I said yes." Nick answers. His voice is gentle, even now. Sam is deer about to bolt every time Nick opens his mouth, even when he tries, and this is the only way to coax anything out. "I gave him the path to you."

"What Lucifer did, it was never really you." Sam finishes, eternity drowning in his lashes as he stares Nick down. "He only wore your face."

"Like he only wore yours?" Nick's bitterness leaks through, the need, the empty yawning cavern Nick has lost himself in gaining purchase to show the light he'd yielded himself to underneath, but then he changes tactics, to keep Sam off-balance, and his voice turns soft again. "He missed you, you know. Even after Hell. And... It feels like I did, too."

"Nick... I can't." Sam finally manages, unable to salvage any willpower for this. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't."

Then Sam walks fast, as controlled as he can, before collapsing in the farthest chair from the kitchen.

If he stares at the empty cup of coffee in his hands, no one else is around to see it.

Jack is asleep, upstairs, and it's not two minutes later that Sam thinks he should take a break to check on him.

Every time he tries to skim the book, all he feels are vibrations of singing and words Lucifer would make him recite, call and response, ask and answer.

\--

When Sam's receding form heads back to the library, Nick makes special note not to follow his escape with his eyes.

Sam would notice.

It's more than just hard, playing this game. Nick knows Sam as much as he knows himself, knows him better, really, thanks to Lucifer and his obsessive, endless fervor for the subject where no one else could see just how much the rejection had still rankled. He'd pretended, sure, that Sam wasn't important, but Lucifer was a creature of masks.

(Sam had still seen through it. The fear had remained partially from that, because for all the ways Lucifer coveted him, that longing had never ended well for him, had tried to swallow him whole-)

But the jealousy, it doesn't wane, and it's more than just getting in the way. Nick can't let it. He's in too precarious a position to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. And Sam catches on quickly, even as distracted as he is, and more than that, Nick wants him to pay for what he's done, wants to right the wrong committed...

But Lucifer had been honest, and look where that had gotten him.

No, if Nick was going to fix this mess, he'd need to get under Sam's defenses, need to go for an angle Sam wouldn't want to linger on but wouldn't rebuff immediately. He'd almost broken through, on some level, by bringing up the one taboo with enough obfuscation that Sam still thinks it's his fault.

And if he can get close enough, without worrying Sam or his too-suspicious mind, with Sam thinking it's just the storm before it breaks, that it's just part of making sense of it all-

He has to get closer. He has to get Lucifer back.

And Sam's the key, somehow. He knows it. Lucifer's grace still lingered inside him, even after all this time, and Nick had Jack's nephilim grace he could still barely grasp, enough to tie them together.

And somewhere in the ridges of his jaw and the space between his lips, Nick remembers Sam, there, too, remembers tasting the Devil on his own breath and he wants Sam just as much, even if he'd ruined everything.

He belonged to both of them, as much as Nick would always be Lucifer, would always have that aching gap inside of him where the Devil really belonged-

If Sam always belonged to Lucifer, then he belonged to Nick, too.

And Nick would make him remember it, one way, or another.

Even if they deserved better, after everything Sam has done.

But that was Lucifer's decision, ultimately. All Nick needed to do was get him back, and then Lucifer would be far creative, more than he ever could be.

\--

The next few weeks are quiet. Despite the last blowout, Sam chalks it up to sleep deprivation on both sides, and then challenges himself to deal with Nick in the same space for longer periods of time outside of his usual haunts while they work on finding more of a plan to help Dean. Sam appreciates it, to some degree- unlike the other hunters, Nick doesn't want Dean dead, and understands the lack of control one has when under the influence of an angry, vengeful archangel.

Being around Jack is less foolproof. They don't interact much, or Nick avoids him because he doesn't seem to know what to say, or Sam feels more like checking in on Jack and doesn't really try to rush things that dredge things up too much for all of them.

Jack is still not dealing with the loss of his powers or lack of confidence or feeling useless as a result, and it's not the best combination.

Sometimes, Nick does try to be supportive, though.

"Your powers don't define you, kid. If they did, I wouldn't amount to much. This is what being human is. Welcome to the club."

Jack didn't really want his opinion, though, and the sarcasm still rings a bit too true.

\--

Sam, slowly, ever so slowly, gets more comfortable, even if he makes sure Nick and Jack aren't near each other too often.

When they are alone, they talk of what they remember, of things only they would understand.

Nick, though, is oddly reticent about some things, and there's still things Sam won't say, can't say, because then he'd lose whatever handle on things he has so far managed to have.

Sometimes, when he looks at Nick's face, all Sam wants to do is hurt him.

But sometimes, Nick seems to look at him the same way, and Sam knows they want to hurt the same person.

(They don't, not really. Nick can tell when Sam's got the wrong idea. But hey, whatever works.

Sam's self-loathing wasn't something Nick shared, but he could loathe Sam enough for the both of them.)

But Sam can't know that. He had already proven blind more than once, and if Nick can get Sam to love him...

He won't see it coming when Lucifer is waiting in the wings.

\--

Weeks later, Nick overplays his hand. Can't quite help it, he's too impatient, too angry...

"Sam, I know this isn't the best time..." Nick gestures, holds out a hand half-way, and Sam doesn't flinch-step back but doesn't get closer, doesn't let Nick touch him, doesn't meet him halfway.

Then Nick's asks what he knows he probably shouldn't, voice raw, "But despite our lack of progress, even with everything that happened... I have to ask. One day, could we still try-"

Sam looks dazed.

"No." Sam finally answers, voice rote, body hunched over, trying as hard as he can not to flee. Then he bites his lip and tries to relax his posture, still failing miserably.

That's when the patience dies and bitterness finally rears it's ugly head. Nick hadn't been the first choice, not by a longshot. But he understood being wanted just fine.

"He loved you, Sam. He may have done horrible, horrible things. But he loved you once. So why can't I?"

After that, Sam shuts down, and asks if Nick doesn't mind being relegated far, far away. Blames his discomfort, blames the whole thing on bleed through and recovery and things he can deflect from because anything else would mean he couldn't look Nick in the face.

Nick obliges, and picks the basement for his new home again.

Whatever will make Sam feel safe and build the rudimentary, fragile trust Nick has almost sent toppling over.

Nick keeps his distance for months until Sam seems to have forgiven him, every conversation stilted and brief.

And Cas tends to Nick more now, and Nick knows that Sam asked him to.

But Nick doesn't let it get to him.

That's the only way to salvage it all and lie low for the next opportunity. After all, he'll probably need Sam to draw Lucifer back. He doesn't know how, but he knows that much.

And the Bunker is full of Enochian books Nick can pretend to be looking for a solution to recover Dean with, so he delves into that with reckless abandon if it means Sam will stop avoiding him entirely again.

He just needs to get close enough, and then maybe, Sam won't catch on until Lucifer is free again at last.

\--

"Nick, are you sure this is a good idea?" Sam asks, voice drawn but also a little unsure over the phone.

Nick can't tell if he's relieved at the idea of him leaving to get some air, or if he's worried about the aftereffects of leaving Nick alone. But after Castiel was distracted with Sam and Mary going out to get Dean back, and since the angel didn't want Nick around as some twisted memory of his own hangups around his elder sibling, Nick saw his chance and took it. Sam has a one-track mind around his brother, accidentally pushes everything off to the side and compartmentalizes what he can when the finish line is in sight and he has to make a play. And Castiel even made the excuses easy for him, seeing as Sam knows how much the two of them don't quite get along, despite their best efforts, and how much Sam doesn't like to leave Jack alone with Nick in the Bunker, even after all the progress they've made.

Nick rolls his shoulders and buries the ease he feels so all Sam can decipher is impatience and a lightness he almost feels at being left to his own devices without Sam hovering. The long con, the whole affair makes him impatient any way the cookie crumbles, and if Nick has learned anything, it's that rushing into things doesn't work when it comes to Sam, not for Lucifer, not even when he could force his way through the eye of the needle and nab a Pyrrhic victory anyway, and Nick alone doesn't have the finesse to manage that on his own. And if he's going to revive Lucifer properly, he needs to get Sam off his back, however temporarily, before he worms his way back in again.

"Sam, I'll be fine. It's only for a few days. You keep taking care of Dean. And once I've figured myself out, I'll come back. This might even help, you know? If I figure out who I am, separate myself from _him_... Maybe putting all the puzzle pieces together can help us find a way to dig Dean out of the mental hold Michael has over him, you know?"

"Nick, I appreciate it, but are you sure this is the right time, with so much going on-"

"Sam, you almost sound like you miss me." Nick teases, and he can practically see Sam go still as he clutches the phone with white knuckles and closed eyes as he tries to reign all his conflicted feelings in, as he tries to separate man from a monster that Nick has never wanted to separate himself from. Nick keeps talking, faster, more conciliatory, "Sorry, it's just... Where else am I going to go? There's not exactly much waiting for me out in the wild-"

"That's not what I meant." Sam sounds tentative, even now, and then his maddening self-sacrificing, protective streak shines all the brighter as he asks, "You're still healing, and with... everything else," Sam sidesteps the glaring, obvious omissions of snapping fingers and rages and crying nights where Nick wasn't sure of who he was and Sam wasn't quite sure either, of times where Sam only had the option to retreat from years of treating Nick's occupied body like a landmine that would go off at the slightest provocation, and adds, gentler, now, "Are you sure about going alone? I can't go with you, but Cas, or maybe Mary, or... You know, in case you need support."

The not-quite-pity and hypervigilance is absolutely nauseating, but Nick plasters a smile on his face to keep the annoyance showing through in his voice. Sam doesn't want to dwell on things. Sam wants to keep on truckin' forward and pretend everything is hunky-dory. Sam wants to give Nick compassion and a chance despite all the warning bells blaring in his head 24/7 and his own paranoia that he's trying to keep from being a runaway train, and it's not like the other Michael's relentless jabs using his brother's stolen lungs have helped with any of that in the interim.

But Nick adjusts. Sam is trying his best to bury the hatchet, and he deserves an equal act to complement his own show of all the emotions that only Nick knows are brewing right there, barely treading water beneath all the raw, raw pain beneath.

This time, Nick lets the gravity of the situation smooth things over and make his case for him.

"Sam. I know things have been a bit strained." That's putting it lightly, even on the good days. "I get it. I overstepped. But all that and the Michael stuff aside, I don't want to be in the way." Sam makes a noise like he's about to protest, but Nick doesn't give him a chance to get a word in edgewise. "Look, I know that you think going on hunts and retraining our brains is how we both heal, but... I _need_ to do this. I need to-" And then Nick pauses, takes a breath, because precious, pathetic Sammy has grown a bit too quiet over the line, and he mentally curses the slip, curses the familiar determined hurt Lucifer had always carried himself with, because that, more than anything, had been a truth even the Devil couldn't hide. Nick over-corrects as quick as possible, careful to dig himself out a grave he'd been accidentally digging with the wrong words and the wrong intonations that make Sam close off and watch like the world is going to end all over again, and adds, "I barely remember who I am, Sam. Maybe digging deeper, getting closure... Maybe that's the key, you know? To finding myself. To piecing my mind back together and remembering who I was before. I just..." And Nick finds his opening, rips the jugular right open. "I want my family back. But they're gone, and there's no quick fix that will ever undo the damage. But I can honor their memory. I _want_ to reclaim what I can. And honestly, you have a chance here, to get your brother off the hook, to be yourself again without anyone else interfering. Fact is, right now, I'm a distraction, and maybe one day I won't be, but until then... I'd like to think the space will help us move forward. You understand? This could be good, you know, for the both of us."

And then Nick realizes he's losing his grip, and knows just what other ghosts Sam is trying not to let run wild even if the little speech on family hasn't melted any real reasons he might have to protest.

_This can be a good thing, you know._

Sam doesn't know what to say for a long time, one punctured lung of noise like he's half grateful and half terrified. And Sam's voice is raw and low and a whisper even though Nick knows he's trying to make it otherwise. "Yeah, I... Good luck, Nick. And if you run into trouble-"

"I'll keep you on speed-dial." Nick jests, too easily, too snake-like, covering with, "And if I find anything that might help with big brother, you'll be the first to know."

Nick doesn't give Sam another chance to argue, and when he flips the phone shut and boards the bus, Nick feels a little lighter. Sometimes, not lying felt a bit too easy, and it felt good, felt like Lucifer was still there, somewhere, lighting the way. After all, hard truths are relative to whoever holds the cards, and if Michael keeps giving them trouble, it's always good to have another Archangel in their corner. And since this mess is all Sam's fault, it's only fair he'll be the first to witness Lucifer rising up again, with Nick ready for all that would follow after. While not quite sated with the thought, Nick thinks of summoning circles and chalk and the candles and incarnations he's stowed away without anyone else the wiser, of all the rituals he could try to contact Lucifer beyond the Empty. He knows he is awake, he feels it, had prayed for it, night after night, had felt the not-yet closed damage that Sam would never be able to pretend would heal. And he'd felt... Something. Purpose, maybe, or a hint of power. But it was enough for Nick to get the ball rolling, enough to kickstart the beginning of a plan.

And no one should notice any absent materials, seeing as Sam and Jack had let Nick help them reorganize storage and re-stock shelves of the less dangerous items in the Bunker, partially to take their mind off things and as part of trying to get used to each other, to get comfortable, with supervision, of course, and with everything carefully stocked and accounted for down to the wrappings and serial numbers.

But Nick knows Sam hasn't been paying attention to all the other piles he keeps squirreled away in his room, of all that has accumulated in the mounds of discarded tools and spellcraft and research and old, secret things Sam has kept buried from even the days of the Apocalypse, and then unburied in a frenzy because the Archangels were on the loose again, and re-reading them sometimes felt like a familiar means of re-gaining control, even though there were still no answers to be found there.

Sam usually keeps things neat and tidy and structured. Once Dean was gone, everything had been strewn about for the quickest skim-times, for emergencies, for longshot experiments-

Nick had done a sweep when he'd interrupted some of Sam's late night candle-burning-at-both-ends research, claiming sleeplessness and a want to make himself useful while Sam had holed himself up in his room, pouring over manuscripts when Castiel wasn't around. He'd only done it the once, and apologized for intruding, but Sam had actually invited him to join in on some nights, which Nick still has trouble believing, except he can, because Sam's just that accommodating, so focused on pushing past the judgement and frustration and fear when he feels like it is more for the benefit to others than himself.

For months, they had avoided each other. And it had taken all of Nick's self-control to craft a new mask Sam wouldn't be able to crack open at it's core, while Nick had never wanted to hurt Sam more. It wasn't just the reminder of what he lost, of who he wasn't, of how Lucifer had always liked to wear Sam's face inside Nick's mindscape the three times he ever bothered to talk, and most of the time he filled all the space with so much power there was little room to think.

But Nick's new hurt is personal, and not just rooted in the affront that Lucifer had waited for so long that Nick felt like he'd been waiting forever, too. But Sam had not only rejected Lucifer, rejected all the things Lucifer would have given him, over and over, ungrateful and afraid, but then he'd rejected Nick, too, even though they all know all the nasty little things Sam tries to keep a lid on like a saint, of all the things he still sometimes craved and pretended he didn't. Nick would never forgive him for that. And if he's angry at Lucifer for loving Sam more than him, when he'd been loyal, when he'd loved him and not let him go... Well, Nick can have Sam shoulder the blame there, too. Then again, Sam was good at being a scapegoat. Everyone else had made him one long before he'd ever done anything wrong.

 _Look at you, moping. Like the last kid picked for the kickball team_. Nick thinks, and pretends Lucifer is there as highway whizzes past the window, whispering in the spaces of words he doesn't say, but the action feels false, because once Nick had been resurrected, reborn with Lucifer drawn back inside him, Lucifer had seldom spoken to Nick at all. He'd kept Nick drifting, floating in the crackling anesthesia of an arctic sun, of all that the archangel was, while Lucifer kept himself aloof, always too proud to lower himself and show weakness to what he considered an extra passenger he didn't need, except for when Nick offered some vague, sleepwalking sympathy or affirmation that the world deserved to burn and he would help any way he could. Nick knows that was par for the course for not being the true vessel, but also considers himself lucky, seeing as Lucifer did think him worthy to some degree, for saying yes, and knows that in some ways, Lucifer understood, about family and loss, even if he hid the details when he could, all those years stretching on. For so many years, Nick tried to convince himself that he was allowed to exist without interference because he was given peace, given consideration, even though he still knows the ugly truth. Nick hadn't been wanted, not like Sam. Lucifer had wanted Sam so badly Nick still felt the achy half-step of needing him, and he pushes that down to focus on all the ways he's furious, furious and determined to demand what is his due.

Unlike Nick, Sam had been kept aware, and when Lucifer tried otherwise, he had fought tooth and nail to be awake even if he couldn't move, and Lucifer had taken extra care to keep his mind his own... Before Hell, anyway.

Nick hadn't been allowed the same freedom, but then again, he can't blame Lucifer for that. In the beginning he'd ask for rest, and Lucifer had given it.

Maybe when he's got Lucifer back, he'll pray for something else, and Lucifer would answer with a gift he didn't realize he needed, just like he had done the first time.

After all, for however unworthy Nick may have been, he knows he's worthy now, and he was chosen for a reason.

And while Sam may have been chosen, he's proven that he needs to be taken down a peg, to be humbled, because for all the ways Lucifer and Nick have wanted him, Sam had the gall to choose otherwise.

And in the interim, in all the waiting, uncertain times while Sam pretended they were fine and not walking on ice ready to shatter at any moment, it's been difficult keeping Sam at arms length. Nick pretends there isn't that push-pull still there, even while it eats him alive, because for all the ways Nick is tired of not being chosen, he's more tired of not feeling complete, and Sam still feels familiar, still feels like a part of him kept just out of reach. But even when Castiel interrupts these late night visits when he can, there is no denying that it's there. Not even when Castiel stands guard when Sam sleeps, the both of them not really watching Netflix like they used to do together, using it as white noise to pretend things are normal, to pretend to unwind while the lonely hunt for the lost brother they both love lingers on... Except sometimes Sam forbade Castiel his stay either, thanks to yet another body Lucifer wielded in the dark.

No, Nick considers himself lucky that Sam is so intent on helping, being blindly focused on finding Dean, and hanging himself with his own rope, as always. And while Sam didn't let him visit near his room often, when he did, Sam tended to let Nick sit at the floor, not perching, not anywhere near the bed, and away from the always-open door since being in the hallway was out of the question. Jack was only a room away, after all, and sometimes stumbled in with his own nightmares and worries and chats that Sam wouldn't want Nick interrupting, the trials and tribulations of a child betrayed and broken not something Sam willing to let Jack suffer through while still learning how to sleep properly without nightmares. Particularly when the nightmares also wore Lucifer's face.

Those nights, or when Sam got bad all on his own, Nick would make himself scarce without a word, would let Jack sleep undisturbed in Sam's room while Sam kept chugging coffee and keeping an eye out,pouring over Enochian texts, always trying to save everyone but himself. That helped bridge trust more than Nick anticipated, leaving and being quiet in all the ways Lucifer never did, and more than that, there was an exhausted, fragile and still painful understanding that Sam held on to despite it all, because he didn't have to say anything, or confide his reasoning. Nick knew every detail well enough, knew it so well there were no words to say while Sam pretended that this was some kind of way to re-train his brain, to not look at Nick and think he was a hallucination on the edges of his vision, or to banish the memory of Lucifer making Sam's room his own space, instead. Sam had waxed something about reclamation, about exposure, about seeing Nick as himself when Jack and Cas and Mary had asked, when they thought Nick wasn't listening.

So infiltration has been easier, all things considered. Nick would feel more proud, but can't claim it's all his own skill. Sam had made it easier all on his own, with his own peculiar brand of masochistic belief in second chances for those who hadn't proven beyond help. Doesn't change the fact he's wasting his time, but Nick appreciates Sam's own complicity in his own downfall. It's almost like coming home, an old habit that reminds Nick that Sam never really could escape Lucifer, no matter how hard he struggled to make his destiny fit something that never was his to own.

Other than that, the other frustrating thing was that Nick hadn't been able to get any of Sam's or Jack's blood, though it was not for lack of trying. He knows Sam still has Lucifer's grace buried in his atoms, under the skin, but extraction is difficult and even more drawn out after years of being integrated, and Nick not only can't chance breaking Sam permanently without a backup plan, but Nick doesn't have the means to get it, no careful excuses able to deflect a syringe and too-watchful eyes.

And Sam won't let Nick near him like that, not in any capacity, and if he wants, he can still beat Nick up in a fight, even though he'd be hard pressed to break free of all the conditioning around Nick's face. Even if Nick is still sturdy from his resurrection, the echoes of Jack's grace, and Crowley's tinkering improvements, Sam still holds the advantage there, thanks to a life on the road fighting monsters plus the demonic blood and angelic grace that has never fully flushed out completely. But while Sam would still try to patch Nick up, Sam still made a point to always tend his own wounds alone. He isolates himself after hunts, not even letting Cas heal him unless it's an emergency, either, so Nick knows that was a losing battle. And getting close to Jack was impossible. Sam and Cas handled that on their own, and Nick knows better than to get involved. Otherwise, He could still chat with Sam on the good days when Sam was trying too hard to compensate, to make Nick comfortable, or when tending Nick's wounds. Or after the nightmares, when Nick sometimes met Sam as they both wandered the hallways, sleepless and struggling with opposite struggles, hollowed out and empty with different causes to blame. It didn't help with the means of acquiring the tools he needs, except that it gave Nick enough clemency and good will to blend in.

 _Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it_ , no, that method had never worked for Lucifer, not with Sam. Sam could see him clearly, known him like Lucifer knew him, and the Archangel had never been able to hide his power, his presence, and or the lies he spoke that weren't full lies, just truths he believed that others were too stupid to understand. But Nick had the advantage here. Sam assumed honesty of humanity, goodwill where Nick only pretended to give it, and in some ways, Nick hopes this proves to Lucifer that he is more worthy. He can play whatever role he needs to, as long as he is useful. As long as he can feel that power, that certainty, that ability to level the earth and all that stood in their way again. He deserved to be the true vessel. He deserved and loved Lucifer more than anyone else, even Sam, and surely Lucifer would be able to fix it, to make Nick perfect, provided his son's stolen grace gave him the power to reshape this flawed world? Then they could have anything they wanted, and Lucifer didn't have to settle for the last dregs of a love he still craved, from his father, from his son, from the spirit of a man who had told him no so many times. Surely, after this, Nick would be seen as worthy, and then they could make Jack and Sam fall in line without the pall of Nick's imperfections making Lucifer feel exposed.

But disassembly aside, there were technical aspects to consider. Material, ritual needs that could not be ignored, but whose acquisition would ruin Nick's attempts at cultivating trust if he didn't tread careful enough. But it had been worth the risk when Nick had nicked a few things when Sam was downstairs doing research and asked anyone around for more supplies and coffee and paint for spellwork and rituals, and allowed Nick to wander a few places that would otherwise be viewed as extremely suspicious with excuses ready-made on his lips. The few times Cas and Jack caught him a bit too close to Sam's room, he'd played it off as Sam asking for supplies, and having them in his hands, as guileless as possible, with Sam as his own alibi. Jack didn't even think to be suspicious, either, since Sam had asked him to do the same so that he felt included in the process and not shut out.

But Cas still didn't trust him at all, although he did seem to view Nick with a kind of resigned scrutiny.

Jack didn't tend to ask too many questions otherwise, still reeling from all the things he still didn't quite know about his Father and Sam's unspoken history after the fallout in the church, and not knowing how to even ask the right questions because trying to ask, well...

Sam tried his best, but clammed up more often than not, and Jack didn't seem to want Nick's insight on the matter until Sam found the words to give him a history that he'd never gotten the full answer to.

Anyway. They can hash that drama out later, once Nick gets Lucifer back, and to do that, the first order of business is tracking down the demons that aren't thrilled with Sam's embargo on the kingship. Demons need guidance to get anything done, and if Nick wants answers, wants an in, the best way forward is to get those who fear Sam most to cough up what they can.

After all, everyone knows that when you are afraid of Sam Winchester, there's only one other being he fears more, and that's the one you want in your corner to keep the fires of Hell stoked high.

Whether or not the demons or humans were around to stoke the fire is another matter entirely, but Nick's not too worried about that. Lucifer had his priorities in order, and now that there were no distractions except Sam and Jack, once Nick gets him back, everything will get back on track.

\--

Sam knows something is wrong. The thing is, everything is wrong, right now, everything is wrong all the time, and while Nick is certainly not okay and there is definitely more than a reason to worry... Sam can't pretend he isn't grateful for the space. And besides, Nick isn't a prisoner, so it's not like Sam can demand someone go with him, or that there's very many people who would be willing. And right now, Dean needs his help most of all, and Sam can't quite wrap his mind around anything but that, and can't spare Castiel or Mary when they're keeping an archangel at bay.

Dean is back. Dean isn't safe yet.

Sam can only tackle one project at a time. And Nick seems to have his priorities in order, and a clear direction to tread, so Sam stops fighting more than one battle and focuses on the one that counts.

\--

Nick knows his disappearance won't be noted for a few days. Getting to Delaware takes a few bus rides, and he knows Sam is chomping at the bit to eat up all the excuses he's come up with. And sure, maybe Castiel will be sent to supervise or check on things in a few days- but that's why Nick has to work quickly. And while he is better at improvising, (Lucifer had always been the one with a plan, with an unwavering vision of a future that would eventually come to pass), Nick knows his excuses would work long enough so that his cover story should hold while he gets everything in order. More importantly, Sam can't really let Dean and Nick interact. Not with Dean reeling from Michael's possession, and not with all the other things buried between the two.

Dean wouldn't want Sam to even think about what he's been doing, talking to Nick, he'd make some deflecting joke about evil twins and then he'd probably grow quiet when he sees exactly why Sam is so hellbent on his flower-power rehabilitation project with the Devil's second-rate meatsuit, or he'll be too serious, too angry that Sam is allowing Nick to wander free, although Nick will admit, the guess probably isn't a longshot. He knows Dean pretty well thanks to Sam's memories of him, all the memories Lucifer had rifled through to make Hell something Sam would never forget, and thanks to all the memories Sam had dragged Lucifer through when breaking his control. Sticking point, that, all the ways Sam would've crumbled except for the ways he didn't.

And all that aside, Dean has just been taken for a joyride. Nick knows how that feels, and doesn't want the mask to slip around the one brother who doesn't know him well enough to know what Nick is thinking, but who is just clueless and overprotective enough that he might catch on faster, thanks to everyone else trying to over-correct course due to all the other variables at play.

Self-blame and benefit of the doubt, or just plain hatred, meant Nick had more chances with those Lucifer had hurt more deeply. Dean, with perspective, or Michael from the other world, had the benefit of distance, and didn't have nearly as many smokescreens and old wounds to unpack, and that made them infinitely more dangerous.

\--  
  


"I like it as little as both of you. Pinky promise. " Lucifer assures, Castiel's vessel fitting him like a too small, hand-me-down coat. "But hey, it was this, or Red, or little Jack, so I think you two should learn to pick your battles and be a little grateful that I didn't go that route."

\--

"Don't be that way, Nick. I'm doing this for all of us here, you most of all. The second I hop into your skin, Sammy here is going to jab the nearest sharpest object into your chest cavity. Much easier for us to both subdue him, and then figure out a proper plan.


End file.
